Poison One Beginnings
by ginny29
Summary: First in a long series of stories charting a relationship between Treize and Zechs. In the Autumn of AC 193, an attempt to assassinate Treize makes the two men reconsider their friendship. But as they come to agreement, Zechs is called to duty in space
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: For everyone who reviewed this on the mailing lists, or at my homepage - Thanks! Especial thanks to my beta-readers - there's more about them at the homepage - you guys are awesome and I'd be lost without you!_

_And to my readers - I hope you enjoy redaing this as much as I enjoyed writing. It's long. It has sequels. And I adore feedback. Constructve criticism is welcome, of course, so if you spot a mistake, let me know._

_In order to comply with the ratings rules of one section of chapter six of this story has been edited from it;s full version. Readers wishing to view this section can do so at the homepage listed in my profile._

_Enjoy!_

**Poison One - Beginnings**

**Chapter One**

Colonel Treize Khushrenada, scion of aristocratic blood as blue as his uniform coat, got to his feet, leaving his drink on the small table beside his chair, and began to cross the ornate ballroom of the Luxembourg base in graceful, measured strides. As he moved, passing through the lavishly dressed dignitaries without so much as a ripple, he exchanged polite nods but never once stopped to talk. At the far end of the room, he mounted the few stairs to one of the side entrances two at a time and pushed open the heavy, reinforced wood door to vanish into the chill of the October night. The ballroom, set as it was on the first floor, was surrounded on its two outside walls by expansive balconies overlooking the gardens and the mountains – balconies off-limits to the attendees of the ball for reasons of security.

Unless you were the twenty-three-year-old, titled, General of the Specials.

The door swung closed behind him and he took a moment to inhale the cold, clear air before walking the length of the balcony to the far corner. The view from here was spectacular, even in the early hours of the morning, but Treize wasn't inclined to notice as he gripped the wrought steel of the safety railing in his gloved hands, leaned forward and vomited into the gushing black water of the river below.

His stomach went into a spasm, lancing pain through his body as it tried to rid itself of contents it didn't have, and the strain caused a fine sweat to break across his skin, his vision fading to sparkles.

"Sir?"

Treize dug his fingers into the sharp edges of the metal as he fought to remain conscious, somehow warmed by the cool voice of the officer behind him.

The urge to faint ruthlessly suppressed, he turned around, rested the small of his spine against the railing, and tried to smile. "Your turn, is it?" he asked.

Zechs Marquise smiled beneath the silvery metal mask that hid the upper part of his face and stepped forward to hand his commanding officer a flask of water and a clean handkerchief of soft linen. "Lady Une is caught up with the diplomats from L4 and I believe she thinks any attempt to follow you, again, would be noticed. I am… less likely to be missed."

Treize nodded, folding the handkerchief and wiping it across his face before drinking the water to ease the burning in his throat. The liquid was chill relief as it flowed down, until it hit his stomach, where it immediately ended the temporary relief from nausea he had gained and began the build up to another such performance. "I believe I prefer your company anyway, my friend," he murmured.

Zechs, not for the first time, was glad of the mask he was forced to wear; between it and the gloom surrounding him, his reaction to such innocent words from the other man was well hidden. "How… do you feel, sir?"

Treize waved one long-fingered hand dismissively. "How many times must I ask you not to call me 'sir' when we are alone, Zechs? Such formality is… silly. Especially given the state I'm in."

"I am sorry, Treize. It's habit, by now. How are you feeling?" he repeated.

The older man sighed. "Truly? Terrible."

Zechs came a step closer. "I'm not entirely sure the Cognac you've been drinking all evening is helping," he pointed out gently.

"Ah, no, most probably not. But I thought the aim was not to give the game away – it would look more than passing strange if I were to sip water all night, would it not? I doubt I'm known for my temperance."

Zechs chuckled. "Likely not. You drink enough to shame any man."

"Practice, my friend, practice. When you have to face as much paperwork as I do, then perhaps you, too, will learn to appreciate fine – and strong – liquor."

"If I do, who will you find to help you to your bed?"

The young general smiled. "We should simply have to help each other. You will be eighteen in few more months – I have no intention of letting you pass your birthday without suitable celebration. It's a time-honoured tradition, and you may as well accustom yourself to the idea now."

For the second time in not so many more minutes, Zechs was glad his reaction was hidden. "Perhaps Lady Une would help us?" he offered.

Treize shuddered delicately. "What a dreadful thought!"

"What is?"

"The idea of allowing Une to see in me in such a state!"

Zechs scowled. "Is it? I had thought she was rather accustomed to seeing you in… less than formal circumstances?" The younger officer allowed his tone to convey the full weight of his meaning.

Treize gave a startled laugh, "My God! No! Where did you get that idea?"

"You and the Lady seem quite close. She has been most worried about you, tonight." Zechs chose not to mention that he, himself, was long past worrying, and had reached the point of outright fear.

Treize sighed gently. "The Lady is more than competent in her duties, however unusual they may be. She is a friend, nothing more."

Zechs took another step closer to the older man. "You've surprised me. I'd thought you and she were… lovers."

Treize raised one of his so-distinctive eyebrows. "Do you consider me so unprofessional?"

"Sorry?"

"To make a lover of a subordinate. Would that not compromise my authority – to become emotionally involved?" He thought for a second. "Although, perhaps, you do not think so?"

"No… I do," Zechs agreed, his heart beating erratically as he realised the death of a dream – he, too, was Treize's subordinate. "Why would I not?"

"Your Lieutenant Noin?"

The blond shook his head, a strand from his sheet of platinum hair falling over his shoulder. "Is a friend."

"Only a friend?"

Zechs smiled slightly. "I return your question."

Treize smiled outright. "Ah – delightful tactics. I will make a diplomat of you yet."

"I hope not!"

The senior officer laughed, the rare sound falling into the air between them. "Am I so cruel? I wouldn't do that to you. I have Une for paperwork – you, I need as a pilot."

"Good!"

Treize let his amusement bubble over a moment more and then pushed away from the frost-covered railing. "Charming as the evening is, I believe I must return inside."

Zechs frowned. "I wish you wouldn't."

"Why not? You told me once that you thought I suited such things."

"I was ten," Zechs replied, "and you do. But I…"

"Yes?"

"I cannot keep you safe in there."

"Would you want to?"

"Of course I would!"

"Zechs, it is as safe as anyone could make it."

"But _not_ safe. One person, one bullet…"

"Such risks come with my job, my friend. I am well-used to assassination attempts."

"None so subtle as this morning's."

Treize re-draped his cloak over his arm. "No – true. This one was particularly well executed."

"Is that all you have to say? Someone tried to poison you and all you can say is that it was a well-executed plan? I am only grateful that it was not well-executed enough!"

"So am I – but I am fine. Can you not admire the type of person it must take to doctor my drink?"

"I will admire their corpse. Until then, you aren't safe. What was tried once will be tried again."

"I am aware of that. I have orchestrated my share of assassinations."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because to do anything else would be to allow them victory. If such attempts hinder my behaviour even slightly, they will become a means to my control."

"Allowing yourself to be killed would give them all of that and more. Anyone in that room could be hiding a weapon."

"It is not so great a risk. The mind which could conceive of tainting my wine would not stoop to something so sensationalist."

"If you were anyone else…"

"If I were anyone else, they would not have bothered," Treize put in.

"…You would have died," Zechs finished. "I couldn't taste the poison."

Treize shrugged. "The wine was bitter. Even a tasteless poison would have unbalanced a wine as delicate as that one. You may take it as a clue of sorts – I would have tried for my spirits."

"I wouldn't say that so loudly!"

"Oh, stop fussing! I am fine!"

"So fine that you need to leave an important state function to lose your dinner into the river?"

The general smiled. "As opposed to the flower beds?" he inquired.

"It isn't funny!" The younger man snarled and turned away.

Treize felt surprise wash through him. "Zechs?"

"You joke now, but you might have died this morning! I could not taste anything in your wine and neither could Lady Une."

"Neither of you is me."

"No – and between us we could have finished that bottle of wine and come to no harm. This assassin knows you, Treize. Knows things about you that I do not."

"It was only a matter of reading my medical records – my reaction to morphine is listed."

"And that is even more disturbing! Who would have access to your medical records?"

Treize shook his head, closing the distance between them. "Zechs, security will answer these questions, and my dignity, whilst suffering, will survive. I have left state functions to lose my dinner before and I am sure I will again. They have a habit of producing truly inedible food."

"Will you stop? I do not find anything about today amusing!"

"Not even that I am behaving like a cadet after his first drink?"

"No!"

"Zechs," Treize murmured, laying a hand on the other's shoulder and turning him gently around. "What would you have me do?"

"I don't know!"

"I cannot prevent people from trying, Zechs. I can only hope to survive their attempts. It is far more likely that you and I will go out in a blaze of exploding mobile suit."

"I don't want to think about that, either!"

"I am mortal. I have to die someday."

"Yes, but not yet! I have already lost one family to assassins!"

Treize stilled. For a moment the man before him was replaced with an image of the way he had first seen Zechs, ten years before: a wide-eyed, wraith-haired child with dirty skin and bloodied clothes. "Ah, is that the problem?" he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

Embarrassed, Zechs gave a single nod and tried to pull away.

Treize held him, those long fingers far stronger than the narrow bones looked. "Take this off," he instructed, using his free hand to indicate the mask the other wore.

"Why?"

"I want you to. No one will see."

Slowly, Zechs reached a hand to the edge of the mask and then hesitated, unwilling to reveal his face after so many months of keeping it hidden. Treize made a noise low in his throat and, with a gentle smile, pushed the younger man's fingers away to lift the helmet clear himself.

"I know why you have to hide," he murmured, setting it on the floor at his feet, "but I wish that you would leave it off occasionally. I do miss looking at you."

His left hand settled on the younger man's slender waist and drew him forwards.

Zechs tensed; Treize had been tactile as a youth – had frequently thrown his arms around his younger companion – but age and increasing rank had caused him to ruthlessly squash the tendency. The closest to physical contact they had shared in recent years had been the occasional brush of gloved fingers against sleeve.

"Let me, my friend. Then you will know I am alive."

Cautiously, the blond relaxed into the embrace.

Although Treize was sure that Zechs, at seventeen, had yet to reach his full height, for the moment the two of them stood eye to eye, and each could rest his head easily on the other's shoulder.

The younger man was warm in his arms, the fine wool of his uniform jacket soft against skin cooled by the chill air and by a day of ongoing illness. His hair, a mere shade or two darker than the snow covering the land around them, was heavy satin, carrying some indefinable scent.

Treize shivered and the arms holding him changed instantly from tentative to supporting.

"I don't want you to go back into that ballroom, but you shouldn't be outside…" Zechs murmured.

Treize shrugged. "I had little choice."

"You should be in bed," the blond continued.

Treize shook his head and stepped back. "All these references to my bed, Zechs… are you trying to proposition me?" he asked with a small smile.

The younger man stiffened instantly, his face becoming a mask without the aid of the metal. "I…"

Treize took a second step backwards, shaking his head, "Ah, no. I shouldn't have said that."

Zechs drew a deep breath, trying to still his whirling thoughts. For a moment he had thought…

He felt woefully off-balance tonight, shaken to the core by how near he had come to losing the older officer. In truth, he didn't think he could tolerate much more of Treize's verbal fencing and unintentional flirting, not without risking exposure.

The other man was waving his hand again, that elegantly dismissive gesture that could convey so much. "Do you know, I do believe I'm actually drunk!" he murmured. "So sorry, my friend. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"No, of course not. It's just that, well, you know how fast scandal can fly…"

"Yes, yes. Of course. It was a jest in poor taste and I apologise…"

They looked awkwardly at one another and then Zechs forced a smile. "It was worth it to hear you admit to making a mistake. 'Tis a rare event!"

"Indeed. You should be honoured! Now, I really must return to the ball. Shall I see you again before the evening ends?"

"That would entirely depend upon the whims of your stomach, would it not?"

"Ah, yes. Most likely you will, in that case. I shan't bid you good night now then…"

"No."

-------------------------------

Lady Une glanced across the room carefully, observing her superior officer without appearing to do so.

The evening was drawing rapidly to a close, with only the truly persistent – or the truly drunk – guests remaining. She calculated that it would take her another half an hour at the most to get rid of them all, but from what she could see, she had to wonder if that wouldn't be half an hour too long.

Her commander was a damn fine actor – consummate in his skill to appear his usual cool, elegant self regardless of the circumstances – but the façade was beginning to crack. He was sitting with Zechs, and had been for the last half hour – the two of them leaning over the small table Treize had occupied all evening, seemingly conducting a spirited conversation on some mutual hobby or other.

Une's sharp eyes hadn't missed the fact that it was Marquise who was doing all the talking and that he had set himself between his friend and any direct lighting, so that the general's too-pale face was perpetually in shadow. She watched covertly as some vapid diplomat's aide approached the two of them and was given polite but pointed brush-off by the blond.

She smiled. There was no love lost between herself and the young pilot – they were rivals in a game that neither of the men yet realised was being played – but she could trust him to look after the general when she herself was not able to.

She turned her attention to the man she was dancing with and began to work on getting him to leave.


	2. Chapter 2

It took Lady Une a little longer than her estimate of 30 minutes to clear the room, but finally she stood flanked by the two male officers as they said their final good byes to the last guest. Immediately the doors swung closed, both junior soldiers focused their attention on their commander.

"Well, that was excruciating," Treize commented dryly. "And I mean that in every possible sense of the word."

"I always think these things are excruciating," Zechs replied, smiling beneath his mask.

"I know you do, my friend."

They looked at one another for a moment, and then the auburn haired man looked squarely at the woman at his side. "My Lady, you look truly lovely tonight. Thank you for your help – it is most deeply appreciated. I hope you will forgive me for forgetting all my obligations as a gentleman, but I think if I attempt to escort you back to your rooms you will end up having to carry me back to mine."

Une shook her head. "No, of course not. I was just about to ask if you needed me to…"

"Thank you, no. You've done more than enough. Go to your bed. Zechs can see me to mine."

"Of course, sir."

They watched her leave the hall, Zechs noting with a pang how the older man's eyes tracked the slim, silk-clad figure from the room. "Sir? You really should go to your room, now," Zechs reminded Treize. "The doctors advised against you risking this – it would be a shame to have done so well only to prove them right at the last moment."

"Yes, of course… if you wouldn't mind walking with me?"

"Of course not, sir."

Treize sighed wearily. "Zechs… please stop calling me sir."

Zechs inclined his head in agreement, cursing himself for lapsing back into habit – his friend was under strain enough at the moment. It was only a little thing, but the fact that Treize continually reminded him about it made it clear that it mattered.

They fell into step with each other easily, making their way slowly through the corridors of the base. Zechs was acutely aware, and growing more alarmed by it every second, that that the usually so-graceful man at his side was actually unsteady on his feet. What looked to casual observance like a lazy stroll was, in truth, a pace forced upon them by necessity.

Zechs bit his lip as the other man visibly wavered and then flung out a hand to support him as he staggered a little, catching himself on the wall. "Treize?"

"A moment, please, friend. You may have been right about the Cognac not being wise… it doesn't appear to sit well on top of morphine poisoning."

"I didn't think it would. Are you…? Do you need me to find…?"

Despite having closed his eyes in pain, Treize managed to smile sardonically at the younger man. "No, Zechs, you need not find me a plant pot to serve as a bucket. There's no danger of my redecorating the corridor. I am merely... very dizzy."

"Oh. Well, then, perhaps…" Zechs stepped close enough that Treize could once again feel that lovely heat washing from his body and slid a strong arm around the other man's slender waist.

"Zechs?"

"Lean on me. Let me keep you balanced. If you put your arm around me as well… at worst it will look as thought we've both had a bit much too drink and…"

"At this moment in time, Zechs," Treize murmured, doing as he was told and not noticing the shiver that passed through the junior officer, "it can look however the hell it wants. Most of the military already think I'm sleeping with you."

Zechs tensed and the older man chuckled. "Hadn't you heard? I thought someone would have been careless enough to let you hear the rumours by now?"

The blond nodded. "I've heard some things along those lines, of course. I wasn't aware it went beyond the usual gossip. I've heard rumours about myself and Lady Une as well…"

"Ah – yes. If the more extreme of the tales are to be believed, I stole you from your one true love – Noin – and now have you and the Lady alternately in my bed… when you aren't in my bed at the same time, or when I'm not watching the two of you."

Zechs spluttered, outraged, "And you've let that slide…?"

"What could I do to stop it? Bear in mind that same stories also say that I'm using you and the Lady to seduce my way to the top by sending you to the beds of various dignitaries for a night in return for favours. Oh, and that either separately or together the two of you are plotting to topple me from power – some of the stories hold that you already have and that I'm nothing more than a puppet."

"That's ridiculous! Where's all this coming from?"

"The soldiers, of course. Part of it is fuelled by envy, part of it by romantic simpering; none of it is worth truly paying any attention to."

"Are you sure? If rumours like that were to reach the ears of the wrong people, they could be very damaging. They don't cast any of us in a good light."

Treize shrugged, leaning his weight into his friend as they walked down the corridors. "I doubt that. No one who truly matters would believe it anyway – or would care. I make no pretension to monogamy and no-one expects me to."

Zechs suddenly remembered an affair of Treize's from a few years before. Although he had been a cadet at the Lake Victoria Academy at the time, and not yet thirteen, he could clearly recall the impression Leia Barton had left on his friend. Treize had been obsessed with her and Zechs had received the impression that he intended to marry her. The girl's abrupt, still unexplained, departure back to her family's holdings and subsequent refusal to even speak with the young officer had left Zechs deliriously happy, even as it had depressed Treize.

"That's true enough, I suppose," Zechs answered without thinking and was rewarded with a burst of laughter.

"Tact has deserted you again, I see! It isn't polite to comment on a person's dalliances – especially when I make a clear effort to keep them quiet. I don't remark upon yours."

"I didn't mean it quite how it sounded. I wasn't aware…"

There was an impish light in the other man's midnight eyes. "Of course not."

They reached the door to Treize's suite of rooms and he leaned forward to input the security code. The heavy wood was pushed back easily and they crossed from the functionality of the corridor to the lavish furniture and fittings of the base commander's rooms. Their boots sank into thick, deep red carpeting as they crossed the main room.

As gently as he could, Zechs lowered the other officer to sit on the leather sofa and watched, worriedly, as the auburn head fell back in exhaustion. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

"Would you sit with me for a time? I know it's late and you doubtless want your bed…"

"No, it's fine. Of course I'll stay with you. Is there anything else? Can I get you a drink?"

Treize shook his head and began to pull at the fastenings of his uniform jacket without much success.

Zechs went to his knees in front of the older man. "Let me do that," he murmured. Pilot-strong fingers reached out and began freeing the complicated fastenings of the cloak and jacket, lifting the sword from its hook and sliding its belt clear. Treize sat up and shook the heavy fabric off, sighing with relief, and then sighing again as he toed off his boots and swung his feet up underneath him on the leather.

Zechs gathered up the discarded uniform and went through to the dressing room to hang it, using the time to calm himself.

It was wasted effort.

The light from the window bleaching his skin, Treize was a white clad ghost in his snowy shirt and breeches, the only colour the splash of his hair and eyes and lips. Zechs felt his breath catch, repressed desire burning below his skin.

Sensitive ears caught the sharp intake of breath and Treize lifted his head to see his friend standing in the doorway, staring at him, with fine tremors wracking his form. "Is something wrong?"

Zechs shook his head. "N…no. Of course not."

Treize was watching him carefully now. "Are you sure?" He smiled weakly. "I didn't think I looked that bad?"

"You… don't. I'm… I'm going to get you a glass of water. The doctor said you should be careful not to dehydrate." The blond turned on his heel, making his way into the small kitchen attached to the suite.

Once in the kitchen, Zechs removed his helmet, leaned on the narrow counter, pressed his face into his hands and tried to breath. He had to get himself under control or he was going to give himself away – the general was an expert observer of people, had built a career on it, and he knew Zechs better than most. He wouldn't be fooled by poor excuses for long and it would be more than Zechs thought he could stand if the older man were to find out his secret and then reject him completely because of it.

He'd known it was hopeless for years, since he'd first felt these feeling rising in him shortly before his thirteenth birthday.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't hear the older man come up behind him until a long fingered hand carded through his hair.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Treize stared after his friend for a second, analysing, and then heaved himself to his feet, stood for a moment to catch his balance and followed him. Soundlessly he made his way through the suite until he reached the little kitchen and paused in the door, taken by surprise by what he saw.

The younger man had removed the helmet he lived behind, setting on the counter top at his side, and was resting his face in his hands. Treize could hear him taking deep, rhythmical breaths – a breathing exercise taught to all cadets in their first months of training designed to calm the body and mind and suppress strong emotion in the heat of battle.

Without the restraint of the helmet, Zechs' platinum hair was spilling freely down his back, untamed and so at odds with the precision of his uniform that the elder man reached out and ran his fingers through it to try to control it.

Zechs span sharply, one hand coming up to ward off whatever it was that had touched him, and then he was forced to pull the movement as he saw whom it was.

He ended, off balance, with his hand an inch from the other man's ribs.

"My apologies," Treize murmured, his eyes a little wider than they should have been. "I had thought you would be aware of me, but I should have known better than to startle you like that." He smiled. "Your reaction time is still excellent."

"Fortunately, or I would have hit you."

Treize raised an eyebrow at the bite to the younger man's voice. "I might have deserved it if you had – for my carelessness," he pointed out.

"Perhaps. But I would not care to explain why you seem to need treatment for broken ribs so suddenly."

"No, perhaps not."

Clad as he was, the general shouldn't have been at all intimidating. Without his ornate uniform to lend him authority and simple bulk, without his boots to lend him height, he was merely a whip-slender young man actually an inch shorter than the blond, but he had a force – a presence – all his own that was so potent that Zechs felt truly threatened, trapped in this small space with Treize between himself and the only door. The room was warm, dimly lit and filling slowly with the subtle, ensnaring scent of Treize's cologne.

For the first time in his life, Zechs tried to draw a deep breath and sheer panic wouldn't let him – he'd spent half of his life in the confines of mobile suit cockpits, but now claustrophobia robbed him of his equilibrium. He took the half-step back that was all the room he had and closed his eyes, fighting for the shreds of his self-control.

"Zechs? Are you ill? You've all the colour of parchment, my friend…" Treize closed the gap between himself and the younger man, and slid a supportive hand under Zechs's elbow. "Come on…"

The touch of the general's hand, the sudden weight of his body heat, the sharpened perfume of his hair right under his nose was dizzying. With a muffled curse, Zechs shoved Treize out of his way and dived past him into the clear air of the connecting hallway.

Treize staggered under the impact, the force – combined with his already impaired balance – throwing him into the counter hard enough to bruise. He gasped as his ribs protested the blow, and then gathered himself and – for the second time in less than ten minutes – followed the younger man from the room. Outwardly composed, the general was struggling with himself in more ways than one. The sheer physical need to collapse was increasingly pressing and this emotional upheaval was burning through his reserves with speed. Earlier concern for his friend had morphed into true worry - the man was capable of sinking into devastating depressive rages if given the correct stimulus and he'd been on edge all day.

For a moment, Treize contemplated the thought that perhaps he shouldn't have tried to brush his earlier concerns aside the way he had – was it so unpleasant to deal with the idea that someone might truly care if he lived or died? Silently, he admitted to himself that it wasn't. Zechs's concern for him was a mere shadow of what he would like to have him feel, but it was comforting nevertheless. "Zechs?" he called, striding through the door to the lounge again.

He was answered with silence.

The general frowned, and then turned his head as a shaft of light caught his eye. The reinforced steel door was half open. Zechs was gone. For a few seconds, Treize contemplated chasing him to wherever he had run to, but finally he acknowledged that he simply wasn't capable of it.

With a sigh, he palmed the door closed and locked it, made his way to the couch and collapsed onto it, sinking into exhausted, restless sleep almost immediately.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The insistent, annoying buzz of his door chime dragged Zechs from uneasy slumber the following morning. Cursing his visitor – whoever they might be – he threw back the thin sheet separating his skin from the air, groaned when he glanced at his clock, raked his fingers through his messy hair and hauled his robe around himself.

The door opened under his grip and he found himself face to face with an impeccably groomed Treize Khushrenada.

The general raised an eyebrow. "I take it I woke you?"

"Yes."

"You are aware that in 20 minutes you will be officially late for duty?"

"Yes."

Treize smirked – Zechs' entire posture screamed 'And?'

"I thought that might be the case, so I took the liberty of telling your commander that you were seconded to special duties for me for the day."

"Thank you."

"May I come in?"

Good manners dictated that Zechs had to say yes, but at this moment he really didn't want Treize in his personal space. He was the reason the pilot had overslept – it had taken him hours after running from his friend to calm himself sufficiently for sleep. Frustration and anguish made poor bedmates. Reluctantly, he stepped back and allowed the other man to pass him on his way into the rooms.

Treize waited until the door had slid shut and locked again, observing the careless way Zechs uniform was thrown over the chair in silence, before turning to look at the pilot.

The boy looked bone weary, rumpled and not a little angry.

"You forgot this last night," Treize began, producing the helmet the other usually wore from under his cloak and handing it to him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Didn't you sleep well?"

"Not especially. Did you?"

Both eyebrows lifted – there was that edge to Zechs' voice again. "Well enough, considering. I would have followed you last night, but…"

"I didn't expect you to."

Frowning, Treize settled himself in the second chair, crossed his legs and looked up at the blond. "Are you going to tell me what I've done to upset you so, or must I guess?"

"W…what?"

"You ran from me last night as though Hell itself were on your heels… I have the bruise to prove it. What did I do?"

"The bruise…?"

"Yes, the kitchen counter is somewhat solid. It hardly matters… Are you going to tell me, or must I order you?"

"It was… nothing… I merely felt unwell, suddenly."

"You're a poor liar."

Zechs stared at the man sitting so calmly in his chair. "What makes you say that I am lying to you?"

The eyebrow quirked again. "The simple fact that you are. 'Feeling unwell' may cover your unexplained flight, but it does nothing to explain the rest of your behaviour. Besides, you never could lie, especially not to me."

Treize watched with a mixture of amusement and concern as the younger man raked his hands through his tangled hair, yanking it roughly back from his face. For a brief instant, the handsome face, almost feminine in its beauty, was clearly revealed, and then the white-gold curtain fell back into place, even more wild than it had been before.

Zechs turned away, pacing the length of the small room. "I don't suppose telling you that I don't wish to speak of it would benefit me at all?"

The response was an elegant, one shouldered shrug. "If you truly don't wish to tell me I can't force you, but I had thought you trusted me."

"I do…" Impatiently, the blond swept the crumpled uniform from the chair it was occupying onto the floor and flung himself down to sit opposite the general. "Would you believe me if I told you that I don't wish to speak of it for your benefit and not my own?"

Treize studied the younger man, and then nodded. "I would believe that _you_ believe that to be true."

"Thank you," the pilot sighed with relief.

"I wouldn't necessarily agree with your assessment. I'm fairly unshockable – I doubt that you could surprise me."

Zechs merely shook his head.

"No? Ah, well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"Yes. I… appreciate your trust."

"Hmm." Treize straightened his spine and looked around the room. "What were you supposed to do today?"

"Troop inspection this morning – nothing that can't be handled by someone else – Simulated trials for the new mobile suits this afternoon."

Treize smiled across the room at him. "The Taurus? Have you seen anything of it so far?"

The blond returned the smile. "I doubt I know anything about it that you don't. Surely you've seen the performance data from the other early trials?"

"Oh, I know all the data. Parts of it are my design. How does it fly?"

"I don't know. This afternoon will be the first time I've worked with the complete program. Technically… well, it far outstrips the space-Leo. It's almost too good. Its performance is going to be limited by the pilot's tolerances."

"That's what they said about the Leo as well. I suspect that the calibre of pilot will simply improve to match the machine."

"Possibly, but there is such a thing as simple physical frailty. The Taurus looks as though its upper range would kill a human pilot."

"We'll see. What time is the trial?"

"13:30, why?"

"I wouldn't mind watching it."

"Surely you have better things to do with your time?" Zechs asked.

"Probably, but I told you – I helped to design the Taurus. I want to see what you make of it. Perhaps you'd agree to join me for dinner afterwards?"

Zechs smiled. "Of course."

"Good. Now, go back to bed. I'll wake you in time for your trials."

"Sir, I…"

"That was an order. The point of having you participate in the trials was to get data from the best pilot we have. I want you able to perform to your limits, and that you can't do when you're half asleep on your feet."

"Yes, sir."

"And I don't want my dinner companion falling asleep in his soup."

Zechs smiled. "Yes, sir."


	3. Chapter 3

Later that morning, Treize approached Zechs's rooms for the second time that day. Unlike his first visit, he didn't sound the caller but merely used one gloved finger to type in his security codes and override the lock. The door pushed back into the wall with a hiss as it crossed the carpet and the general entered the room on quiet feet.

The apartment was silent, darkened, but the little light creeping in from the beneath the heavy drapes allowed Treize to see that the room had been straightened since his previous visit. The crumpled uniform had been removed and, doubtless, stored somewhere to be sent to the laundry.

Clearly, Zechs had taken him at his word and had gone back to bed after his tidying.

Smiling to himself, Treize crossed the small space, pushed open the dividing door, and then stood staring down at the bed. His friend was buried beneath the weight of his covers, his hair a bright tangle strewn across the pillows and his face. The general took a moment to wonder how he didn't smother himself with the ridiculous stuff, and then he sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed it out of his way.

Face relaxed in whatever dream he was having, Zechs looked far more like an ordinary teenager than Treize could ever remember him doing. His body, normally hidden beneath the formality of his uniform, was long limbed and layered with supple muscle, but it still showed the fading signs of adolescence – a lankiness and a slimness of form that would fade completely over the next few months to leave the pilot tall and powerful.

Zechs snuffled in his sleep, turning his face into the hand Treize was resting on the back of his head like a contented cat would nuzzle its owner. The older officer suddenly found himself with his fingers caressing the curve of his friend's face, feeling the slight roughness of his jaw through his fine silk gloves.

Treize's mouth twitched in a small smile – that was one thing he most certainly did envy his friend. Zechs's hair was so fine and so pale in colour that he hardly needed a razor at all, whereas the general himself was forced, by dint of his much wirier, auburn toned mop, to make an acquaintance of one at least once a day in order to remain presentable. Had it been remotely acceptable – or fashionable – he would have allowed it to grow out into a neat beard in an instant.

His smile broadened as he pictured Zechs's response to that idea should he present it to him. Then he frowned – most likely, his friend would say nothing beyond wondering what such a decision could have to do with him.

Treize bit his lip, a gesture he would never have allowed himself had there been anyone about to see it, and removed his hand. It was dishonourable of him to steal even these small touches from the pilot. The man had no idea at all about the leanings of Treize's bedroom fantasies and even less idea that he featured in them with growing regularity. There had been a few moments, the previous evening and this morning both, were the general had been sure that his friend had divined his secret and that his disgust at such an idea was what had prompted his flight – but had that been the case, surely the man would never have allowed him to linger in his room whilst he was in a state of undress as long as he had earlier.

Nor would he have agreed so readily to dinner in Treize's company.

For a brief, joyful moment Treize allowed himself to imagine that the secrets he and Zechs were keeping from one another were one and the same, but reality intruded all too quickly and the general had to acknowledge that the man slumbering so peacefully in his presence would never agree to any of the things he truly wanted.

Treize shook his head – eventually he would force himself to forget his fantasies, would see his friend happy in the arms of Noin, or some other woman, would _be_ happy _for_ him, and would turn his own attention to the ever-faithful Lady Une. That was what was supposed to happen.

But not yet.

Sighing and steeling himself, he reached down again, closed his hand around one warm-skinned shoulder and shook gently. "Zechs?"

The blond moved sluggishly for a moment, clinging to sleep in the manner of a small child, and then those arctic-blue eyes snapped open and the man sat up, fully alert.

"Sir?"

"Your wake-up call, as I promised."

"What time is it?"

"11:30. I would have left you longer but I thought you'd prefer not to have to rush to get ready."

"Yes, thank you."

The blond leaned forward to collect his robe from the end of the bed, causing the sheets covering him to slide down his stomach until they were perilously low. Treize got to his feet quickly, picked up the robe and handed it to the younger man.

Zechs looked up at him and smiled. "Thank you." He reached out to take the gown from Treize and their fingers brushed, tangling amongst the rich velvet.

Both men froze, suddenly aware of the intimacy of the situation, their eyes meeting involuntarily and holding because neither wished to look away.

Zechs felt his heart rate double in a matter of seconds, sensation washing through him. How could the touch of Treize's gloved fingers leave him so out of control? He swallowed hard and fought the rising arousal with everything he had.

Treize looked deep into the icy eyes gazing into his and found that they weren't icy at all – they were, he realised, the blue of a flame just a degree below white-hot. The first flush of passion flared through him and that alone was one of the most powerful things he had ever experienced. He could recall bedding partners that had left less impression on him when they were locked together and seconds from completion.

He looked down at the pilot, soaking in the sight of the dim gold light playing over his exposed skin and something in the back of his mind whispered to him how easy it would be to turn the light touch of their fingers into a controlling grasp. To lean down and kiss the other man senseless. How easy it would be to press him back into the warm haven of his bedding, strip off his own clothes and make love to him.

It would be the fulfilment of months – years – of tortured fantasies. Something in the younger man must want it as well or he would have moved by now. Treize saw the gathering flush, saw the nervous swallow and knew… knew what had caused Zechs to run from him the night before.

Knew that his friend was as willing and wanting as he was, and began to lean forward.

Sudden fear bloomed in those captivating eyes and it served as a slap across the face of the general's shattered self-control.

What was he doing?

Before the tatters of his discipline failed him completely, he pulled his hand back, turned on his heel and strode from the room.

Zechs stared after the older man for a heartbeat, pulse racing with a heady mix of fear and desire and then flung himself from his sheets, tore into his robe and, barely pausing to fasten it, ran after the other man.

Why had Treize stopped?

There had been a breath between them – a small, aborted movement that had given him an instant's utter certainty that the general was going to lean down and kiss him. And then the man had turned and fled.

Why?

Zechs couldn't claim to be expert in matters like this, but he was sure that he had read the expression in his friend's depthless eyes correctly. Was sure that they had been keeping the same secret from each other for… how long? The pilot wasn't sure he cared to know how much time they might have thrown away; he only cared now about losing more.

"Treize?"

The general was standing by the window, having thrown back the drapes to let in the sunlight. "You should get dressed – I don't think either of us needs to be late to this simulation."

"Fuck the simulation! What just happened?"

The rare profanity sent a jolt through the older man, but he hid his reaction as he turned to face the younger. "I woke you up," he informed him, as calmly as he could manage. "Get dressed, Zechs."

"You didn't just wake me up…" the blond spluttered, struggling.

"Yes, I did. And then I handed you your robe and left the room so you could put it on. That's all."

"Like hell…!"

"Milliardo!"

Zechs's angry retort was scythed in half by the use of his real name. Treize respected his wishes, for the most part, in what manner of address he preferred – he could count on the fingers of one hand how many times in the last ten years he had heard his true name from those lips. In the same, sudden moment he was aware of utter fury and a wistful longing to hear this man say that name over and over again.

Treize read all of this from him as easily as reading the pages of a book in his native Austrian tongue, merely grateful that the use of that forbidden moniker had accomplished its purpose.

Slowly, he closed the space of the room between them. "Zechs, listen to me. Nothing happened. Nothing is going to happen. No matter what you, or I, might want the answer is… and has to be… no. Do you understand that? Get dressed. Forget it ever happened."

"But…"

"No."

Zechs held his glare for a moment more, and then his proud posture slumped and he turned slowly for the bathroom.

Treize returned to the window and stared out sightlessly at the rose garden, seeking peace in the vista of his favourite flowers.

Treize registered the sounds of the shower and then the blow-dryer he knew the younger man used on his hair running, the sounds of heavy wooden doors and drawers opening and closing, all without moving a muscle.

"Sir?"

Slowly, he turned to see the cool, competent officer he was used to and he wondered why this familiar, flawless façade caused him such pain when it never had before. "Zechs. That was faster than I had thought it would be having seen the state of your hair this morning." Zechs had donned his helmet and so the general couldn't see his face, but he thought he saw the pale lips twitch in amusement.

"Honestly? That was rather slow for me… I normally braid my hair before sleeping."

"I doubt you'll forget again in a hurry."

The blond tilted his head, clearly looking at the older man. "I should have made you brush it out. It was your fault that I was too tired to bother last night, after all."

Treize looked at the floor, fighting to keep colour from staining his skin. "Perhaps you should have. I owe you my thanks for last night."

"No, you don't. I meant to ask… before…. How are you feeling today?"

Treize waved his hand. "About as I thought I would. Nothing to worry about, certainly. Have you eaten yet?"

"No."

"Shouldn't you? Even in simulation, pilotage is draining. I wouldn't want you to pass out from the lack."

Even with the mask on, Zechs's incredulous expression was obvious – no one had dared to lecture him on the technicalities of piloting anything in years! The older man chuckled in response. "You don't seem to appreciate my advice, Zechs."

The junior officer reined in his expression, remembering that, despite everything else, the man at his side was his commanding officer. "Of course I do, sir."

"Oh, please! You don't at all and I can hardly blame you. You're our top pilot and I haven't truly flown anything in years."

"You've taught me a lot about flying, sir, over the years. About everything. I would be a fool to ignore anything you choose to say to me, however minor."

"Yes, yes. Flattery is the most sincere form of contempt and all that. Do you want to eat?"

"With respect, I'm not sure that eating less than an hour before a space combat simulation would be wise."

"Ah. Indeed."

The two men fell into automatic step as they made their way towards the training areas.

"I shall have to make sure that whatever dinner I choose to provide you with is twice as large as usual, shan't I?" Treize commented.

"The offer still stands, then?"

"Of course it does. Where to?"

"This way. I need to prepare."

"Of course."

The general followed the blond into a small gymnasium and leaned against the wall as the other stripped down to the red t-shirt he was wearing beneath his tunic and began to move.

He started with simple bends and stretches, loosening tight muscles and relaxing tendons and joints, displaying a more than commendable degree of flexibility. Had Treize himself not been in similar condition it would have been very easy to make some sardonic remark about the joys of youth.

Finished limbering, Zechs moved off into the first of a gentle set of katas the general himself had designed for his mobile suit pilots. Combining the basic hand-to-hand techniques studied by every officer with the movements needed to fly the huge machines, the combinations were intended to leave pilots supple and ready to fly. As the younger man completed them, Treize knew that they still worked. Zechs's slender body was alert, glazed in the slightest mist of sweat, his skin holding just the slightest flush of exertion, but his breath still came easily to his lungs and there was no hint of the tremor in his limbs that would have suggested over-exertion.

Treize held the pilot's jacket out to him, waiting for him to shrug back into and close the fastenings before he brushed and tugged it perfectly into place. "Ready?" he asked.

"Always, sir."


	4. Chapter 4

The men running the simulation, including Engineer Tsubarov, looked thoroughly stunned when their guinea pig for the afternoon turned up with a guard dog in tow. A very senior and unsmiling guard dog, who just happened to have contributed quite heavily to the very design they were going to be testing.

"Colonel, what are you doing here?" Tsubarov demanded.

Treize gestured dismissively with one hand. "Merely here to observe. Carry on as though I weren't here at all, please."

The engineer seemed to take him at his word. He escorted Zechs through to the actual simulation room and briefed him as he fastened him into the chair that would mimic the cockpit. Once he was back in the control room he sat himself down in front of a large bank of computers and spoke into a microphone. "Basic manoeuvring first. When you're ready, we're capturing data."

Zechs gave a single nod, flexed his fingers and grasped the controls at his sides, resting his feet on the pedals. Movements so small they couldn't be seen prompted the chair to begin moving – forwards, backwards, side to side, then though rotations. Tsubarov was nodding to himself.

Treize watched as his friend took a system that had never been flown before and made it dance to his command.

There were inevitable flaws in the code, of course, areas where response to pilot command was too quick or too slow, or too interpretive, but as the afternoon wore on and the simulation stepped up to combat trials the men in the control room began to know that the bulk of their work on this model was done.

As the evening drew in Tsubarov leaned to the microphone and spoke to the pilot, "Thank-you Captain. You may stand down now."

Treize left his post in the corner, tapped Tsubarov on the shoulder and leaned down to speak to him. "Aren't you curious as to what it can really do?"

The engineer shook his head. "All our data say that the suit's capabilities will exceed human flight tolerances. I'm half considering trying to find a way to remove the pilot altogether."

"Certainly not. Would you allow me to exercise my curiosity?"

The engineer shrugged insolently. "Go ahead, but I'd call your doctors in first. He's not even wearing a flight suit."

"I'm not about to ask him to injure himself. I simply want to see what he can do with it."

"Your officer… sir."

"Indeed." Treize leaned down and took the microphone in his hand. "Zechs?"

"Sir?"

"Would you care to actually fly the thing now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Give him something to fly against."

The lieutenant in charge of Zechs's scenario feed hesitated for a second, and then punched buttons on her console.

The resulting blur of movement had every eye in the room off the consoles.

"Damn…"

Treize smiled at the girl's gasp. "Lieutenant, meet the Lightening Baron. May I?"

The girl slid out of her seat, red curls bouncing, as the founder of the Specials played his fingers across the keys like a master and threw more opponents at the man flying the simulation. Eyes flickering back and forward between the screen, the telemetry and the window, Treize smiled when Zechs broke a sweat and began working for air.

"Sir, you're red-lining human tolerance…" the girl murmured.

"I know. What about the suit?"

"Is being pushed," Tsubarov had to admit grudgingly.

"Let me know when I reach its limits."

"I assure you that your pilot will be unconscious long before then. This suit is better than any human pilot."

"We'll see." Treize kept working the keyboard, increasing the scope of the simulation.

Zechs responded.

A shrieking alarm made everyone, including the general, jump.

"Suit destruction, sir," the Lieutenant told him.

"What happened?" Treize demanded.

Tsubarov scrolled through the telemetry, "Simultaneous hits from four Leo's."

"I see. Why?"

There was no answer.

Treize called up the data and looked for himself. "Pilot response… suit response… hmm. That answers that, Engineer. It's an excellent suit. Superior to anything else we have. You're to be commended on your work… but I'd forget any notions about removing the pilot from the cockpit. In this case, the pilot would have been in time to avoid destruction. It was the suit that failed to respond."

Tsubarov's face turned a most unattractive shade of purple as Treize turned away and went to help his friend unstrap.

"Were you trying to kill me?" Zechs gasped as Treize's gloved hands caught his arms and lent him much needed strength.

"No. I was trying to prove a point."

"Did you succeed?"

"I believe so."

"Good."

Treize smiled, bracing the younger man as he stepped from the chair and his knees almost gave way. "What did you think of the Taurus?"

"It's a good suit… perhaps the best I've ever flown. Very responsive." Zechs scowled. "Perhaps too responsive."

"You seemed to handle it."

"Yes, but I didn't enjoy it."

Treize frowned. "Oh? Why?"

"It's a little akin to riding a half tamed wild stallion. It feels… temperamental." He shrugged. "I'm sorry, I know that's not the clearest of descriptions."

Treize smiled. "No, I understand," he replied.

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From the window, Engineer Tsubarov watched the general help his pilot from the room and shook his head in disgust.

"Sir?" the lieutenant asked.

"The man's a lunatic. He damn near killed his pilot just then and for what? To prove a point! Pack it up, Lieutenant, I'll feel better at home."

88888888888888888

Treize walked the younger man back to the small gymnasium and watched as Zechs forced himself to stretch out the muscles that had seized in the long hours he had spent in the chair. He hissed as he straightened his back from placing his hands on the floor and Treize put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "That's not going to help, Zechs, but I know what will."

"I'm open to suggestions."

"A long, hot bath…"

"Would probably help, but we aren't all of us full colonels. I don't have a bath in my rooms."

"No, I am aware of that. I do, however."

Zechs turned his head and looked at him. "Sir, I can't…"

"Of course you can. In fact, I'm ordering you to, or you'll be so stiff in an hour that you'll be in pain for days. I want to enjoy this evening, not watch you cringe across the table every time you lift your fork."

Zechs smothered a smile. "I have no wish to, believe me, but I don't think it's… appropriate for me to…"

"It's appropriate because I deem it to be. I promise not to molest you whilst you're bathing!"

The younger man coloured immediately and Treize, realising what he had said and how it had to be taken in context with the events of the early afternoon, found himself apologising as sincerely as he knew how.

"Sir, stop! Please! I know it wasn't meant as it sounded!"

"Of course not!" The two men both drew deep breaths and walked a little way in silence before Treize cleared his throat. "It's a moot point anyway. I intend to leave you in my suite alone. I have to meet with Lady Une before we can go to dinner. If she is as pedantic as she usually is, then you should have ample time."

"I would have to retrieve my clothes for the evening from my rooms first…"

"And? So little a thing is hardly likely to cause trouble." The auburn haired officer appeared to think for a moment. "I meant to tell you earlier – you won't need your Dress uniform. I wasn't planning anything so formal."

"Oh?"

"I have my plans."

"Of course you do."

The general smirked and then reached out a hand. "Oh, and Zechs?"

"Yes, sir?"

Silk wrapped fingers tapped the cold metal of his mask. "Leave this behind too, will you?"

The idea of exposing his face to the world in general sent a frission of fear through the younger man and he almost refused, but then he recalled Treize's words from the night before and inclined his head in acquiescence. "Of course, sir."

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The water in the bath was almost too hot and smelt strongly of the rose oil Treize had poured into it before Zechs could voice his protest.

The sight of his commanding officer drawing the bath for him had very nearly reduced the pilot to a fit of giggles. It didn't seem in keeping with his nature that the aristocratic general would even know how, but Treize had merely quirked an eyebrow at his amusement and wandered away to find him fresh towels. Then he had quietly left the room, closing the door behind him, and, a moment later, Zechs had heard the door to the suite hiss closed and lock with a thunk.

As quickly as he could – Treize had been right, his body was starting to stiffen – he had shed his clothes and slid cautiously into the water.

He was an instant convert to the general's legendary lengthy baths.

The feel of the heat and the gentle support of the water working their magic on his stressed muscles was pleasure enough to make his breathing quicken a little and he lay back, letting his hair swirl around him. The heavy, heady perfume of roses curled up from the water – a bittersweet scent that he had, for as long as he could remember, identified as uniquely Treize. Now, perhaps, he knew where it came from and in a moment of enlightenment, he knew that the senior officer must have it blended especially for him as he did with his cologne. There was no other way to explain why a perfume, which should have been effeminate, suited him so well.

With Treize's scent wrapping itself around his senses, it wasn't particularly a surprise to the pilot that he found himself thinking about the older man.

All afternoon, when he'd had time to think at all, he had found himself thinking abut the scene in his rooms, thinking about what had happened, what Treize had said and – more significantly – what he had allowed to be understood in his silence.

The ache Zechs had felt until this morning, knowing that he loved a man who would never return his feelings, had faded completely only to be replaced with the new, far sharper pain created in the moment when the general had told him to forget what had happened.

Had Treize asked, Zechs would freely have admitted that he didn't understand the man's motivations at all. Why, if they both felt the same way, shouldn't they act upon those feelings? Sighing to himself, the pilot allowed himself to sink completely beneath the water for a moment, hoping that he could wash his confusion away.

It didn't work and as he resurfaced, pushing the sopping strands of his fringe out of his eyes, he heard the suite door re-open. Resuming his previous reclined position, he listened to the small noises the older man made as he stripped out of his own uniform and then went into the kitchen for something.

A moment later there was a tap on the door. "Zechs? Have you fallen asleep in there?"

The blond sat up, smiling to himself. "No – is that your way of telling me I've been soaking for far too long?"

There was a chuckle. "I have no doubt that your skin is beginning to resemble that of someone three times your age."

Zechs returned the chuckle. "Message received and understood, sir. I'll be out in a moment."

Half-regretfully, he pulled himself from the water's embrace, stepped onto the carpeted floor, used one towel to mop the worst of the moisture from his hair, and then reached for a second one to dry his body. Folding both towels on the unit at the end of the bath, he pulled the plug, pulled his robe around himself and opened the bathroom door. The comparatively cold air of the sitting room hit him like a slap across the face and he winced for a second.

Treize looked up from where he was settled on the couch, reading from a book resting in his lap, and laughed at the wince. "Yes… the bath itself is not far short of heavenly, but the cold air afterward is most unpleasant." The man set his book aside and came to his feet with his customary elegance. "I put your clothes in the dressing room – would you excuse me for a few minutes?"

Zechs nodded his agreement, making his way to the dressing room as the older man closed the door to the bathroom.

The pilot had dressed himself in the shirt and trousers his commanding officer had deemed suitable for the evening's excursion and was pulling his brush through the first of the knots in his drying hair when Treize ambled into the room. Like his junior, he was dressed casually in shirt and trousers – more casually than Zechs had seen him in years – and he reached past the blond to pick up his own brush off the dresser.

That Treize would need his brush made the pilot realise that the other man must have been in the shower and he turned to watch as the general worked the soft bristles through his own hair, and then gave his head a shake.

Zechs stared in astonishment at the halo of loose curls that fell about his face. Clearly, the older man had left off whatever gel or serum he used day-to-day to keep his hair in its pristine sweep back from his forehead, but, in all his imaginings of what the man would look like with his hair loose, he had never imagined this.

Treize caught his expression in the mirror and turned to face him with a rueful smile. "Now you know why I style it the way I do, my friend."

"Yes…"

"It's hardly intimidating."

"It's…" _Adorable _was the first word that came to mind. "I've never seen you without your hair set. I thought it was straight…"

An eyebrow joined the rueful smile. "Clearly not. Terrible mop, it is. The only thing I ever saw similar was a character in a pre-colony painting my mother was fond of."

Zechs reached out a hand to touch it and then stopped himself. "If you hate it so much," he began to cover his near slip, "why have you left it alone this evening?"

Treize shrugged. "Two reasons, friend. It serves as an excellent camouflage for my identity and I thought it would be fair. I asked you to lay aside your mask for the evening and I know that it makes you uncomfortable. This," he gestured at his hair, "has the same effect on me."

Zechs nodded his understanding and went back to plying his brush through his knots. When he was done, he shook his hair back, watching as it fell in a straight, bright sheet against his spine, and used his fingers to sweep his fringe out of his eyes.

He tilted his head, trying to see where the general had gone, and stopped the motion when he felt strong hands on his shoulders and long fingers in his mane. "What are you doing?" he asked, not liking the nervous tremble in his voice.

"Taming this ridiculous stuff a little – you'll be eating it along with every course if you leave it like this." From somewhere, the older officer produced a length of ribbon almost exactly the same shade as Zechs' eyes and, a second later, the blond felt the gentle tug on his scalp as his heavy hair was pulled back to the nape of his neck and restrained there by a swiftly tied bow. "There, that should keep it from getting everywhere. Are you ready?"

Zechs nodded and the auburn haired man led the way from the dressing room, into the lounge to pick up their coats and out into the corridors of the base.

If they were spotted on their way through the base, then either they weren't recognised out of uniform and dressed so differently, or whoever saw them firmly believed that discretion was the better part of valour and declined to comment.

Treize's chauffeur was waiting with their car by the main entrance.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going, sir?" Zechs asked, loosening the belt of his trench coat as he slid across the back seat of the car to give the older man room to sit beside him.

The general swung the car door closed and nodded to the young officer serving as their driver. "A place I found a few years ago, the first time I was assigned to the Luxembourg base. It's not very big and I don't believe the general military has found out about it yet. I thought you might appreciate an evening away from our usual spit and polish, especially after last night."

"I would. It's strange – given whom I… was… and how I was raised, I should be used to balls and such, but I've never enjoyed them, not as you appear to."

The car was running down a wide road, flanked on both sides by a wide expanse of parkland, and Treize turned his head from looking out of the window to gaze back at the younger man. "That's true enough. As a general rule, I do enjoy occasions like that, but even my enjoyment can be marred by an attempt at poisoning."

"I imagine it can." Zechs scowled a little. "Are you sure that you can face a formal meal? I haven't seen you eat or drink anything all day…"

"I haven't eaten, but my stomach is vigorously protesting the lack and it seems to have tolerated the coffee I've been drinking all day well enough."

"Hmm… speaking of that – have security found any leads on the culprit?"

"The actual poison was administered by a boy from the kitchen – he injected it through the cork when he was sent to retrieve the bottle from the cellar. He, of course, is now undergoing questioning, but so far hasn't told us who he was working for and why they would want me dead. The only remarkable thing about the boy is that he was from one of the colonies."

"Aren't they always?" Zechs snorted. "I assume you've had words with whoever hired him for not vetting his background properly?"

"No, I've fired the man and had him cashiered from the forces. If he can't handle domestic staffing correctly, I certainly don't ever want him in charge of troops in battle."

"I can see that."

They sat in silence for a moment or two and then, just as Zechs opened his mouth to say something else, the car pulled to a stop in front of a small building in one of the quieter corners of the city.

Treize didn't wait for the driver to climb out, walk round and hold his door for him, he merely pulled the latch and swung his feet to the pavement, leaving Zechs to follow his lead and do the same. "Thank you, Lieutenant, that will be all for the night." he told the driver. "We'll walk back, I think, assuming you have no objections?" he asked, looking over the roof of the car at Zechs.

Zechs shook his head.

"Excellent."


	5. Chapter 5

Treize had been right about the restaurant.

Sitting relaxed once their meal had finished, Zechs cast another surprised glance around the little eatery, eyes wandering, as they had many times in the last few hours, over the low white-washed ceiling with its heavy wooden support beams and the high backed, mostly enclosed booths surrounding the tables that lent the place a curiously intimate feel and gave the patrons an illusion of privacy.

Everything about the venue had startled him from the moment they had left the car – the first of many surprises being that the actual restaurant was underground, in the cellar of an old townhouse. Between the rough, red tile flooring and the somewhat hard wooden benches that served as the seating, it was one of the last places Zechs would ever have expected his friend to eat in even once, much less do so often enough that the owner knew him on sight and by name.

After an evening spent in the place, though, the pilot could see the appeal.

He glanced around again, straining a little to see around the booth partitions, looking for his friend, and spotted the general leaning against the bar, talking to the owner's wife.

Their excursion had shown him a facet of his friend that the man normally buried deep within himself, and that most people of his acquaintance would have doubted could exist at all – a casual, relaxed, German-speaking Treize who had not only eaten from the restaurant's rather limited menu of food traditional to the region – heavily based on sausage – but had thoroughly enjoyed every bite. He'd even foregone his usual rare and expensive wine and had happily spent the night drinking beer, laughingly explaining that the owner probably didn't have a single bottle of wine in the building and certainly nothing worth drinking.

Zechs shook his head in amused amazement as the elder man began making his good-byes to the friendly, plump little woman that had served them and then came back to their cubicle, hands in his pockets.

"Ready to go?" he asked, resting one hip against the edge of the table.

"If you are?"

"Yes."

They collected their coats on the way up the narrow stairs and emerged, with cheery farewells and hopes of repeat visits still ringing in their ears, into the crisp night air to find a smattering of fresh snow had fallen whilst they had been eating.

Zechs paused, wondering which way to turn and taking in the change in the way the city appeared under the new coat of snow, until his friend tapped him on the arm.

"This way," Treize murmured and led the blond across the street and into one of the parks they had driven past on their way to dinner. "Forgive me," he began as they passed under the gate. "This way does make for a slightly longer walk than staying on the road but it is much more pleasant and I don't believe we're in any hurry?"

"Nothing to forgive, we aren't. It's a lovely night."

"Yes, it is – truly beautiful. Seeing this city like this has always reminded me of home; it's one of the reasons I spend so much time here, I think. Salzburg has this feel to it, too, in the old quarter in the winter." As he spoke, Treize slowed his pace to an effortless saunter, prompting Zechs to do the same at his side.

"I'd forgotten that, you know," Zechs murmured, watching his breath cloud in the cold air.

"Forgotten what?"

"With all the time I've spent at your estate over the years, you would think I'd remember it's in Austria… but I do so much flying around the globe that I often find myself forgetting exactly where on the planet I am. Despite the fact that I lived there, it had slipped my mind completely that you're from Salzburg originally… it explains how you could speak in German to that couple."

"Yes, it does rather. Not that I ever use it much in Salzburg – it was the summerhouse in Vienna where the staff spoke German, if you recall? The people here speak a slightly different version, but it's essentially the same language. So easy to forget, serving in the military, that most countries still have native tongues."

"I know I do… it's been years since I spoke anything other than standard english. Noin says the same thing – she goes to visit her family and it takes her a day to get back into the habit of speaking in Italian instead of English."

The general smiled, nodding. "I'd forget, myself, I think, if more of the people I had to deal with were as competent as you. I still swear in German, occasionally, if I get truly angry about something."

"I've never heard you," Zechs commented, puzzled.

Treize chuckled. "Of course you have. Many times."

"I don't remember…"

"That, my friend, might be because you aren't entirely sober at the moment."

"Nonsense. I didn't drink all that much."

"Enough." Treize gave Zechs a light shove with one gloved hand and, to his embarrassment, the pilot staggered a step or two.

The general chuckled, steadying the younger man easily. "The curse of not drinking, friend, is that when you do bother it takes very little to have an effect."

"I know, but it was only…"

"Ah! I should have known!" The older man was laughing now, his hair shifting around his face with every movement. "I grant you that what we were drinking tonight isn't as potent as the average wine, but it is far stronger than the taste suggests and certainly stronger than the unidentifiable liquid known as beer that is served in the base mess hall."

"Even so, I am not drunk!" Zechs retorted, grateful that the awkward distance that had been between them seemed to have faded away. It wasn't often that he got to see Treize this relaxed.

"Do you think I would care if you were?" Treize demanded. "I told you yesterday that I intend to get you utterly drunk on your birthday."

"I don't recall agreeing, and that's not the point!"

Treize raised his eyebrows, still laughing at his younger companion. "Oh?"

"I have a mission in two days; I have to be able to work tomorrow or I'll never be ready!"

The laughter faded. "You do? I could have sworn that you weren't on active duty for another week and a half…"

"That was before Major Bristein broke his leg in training yesterday. I've been ordered to replace him."

"When did you get that order?" Treize demanded, stepping away.

Zechs looked at the older man's face and realised that he might well be speaking to his commanding officer and not to his friend; the easy light that had suffused Treize all evening was gone, replaced with the sheathed steel that was typical of the young general.

"It was on my computer this morning. I intended to tell you, but…" Zechs's shrug conveyed everything it needed to. "I would have thought you'd know."

Treize shook his head. "I had no idea Bristein had even been hurt. I knew about the mission of course, I authorised it, but… Zechs, you are aware of the mission profile, aren't you?"

"Of course."

Treize looked into his eyes and saw none of the discomfort he was personally experiencing. "Forgive me, of course you are. I just…"

The pilot reached out and then halted the gesture just above the other's arm. "Sir, if you don't think I should go you only have to say so."

"What? No, of course you should go! You are the obvious replacement and I would have suggested you myself had I been asked. You're more than capable of the mission and it will be good for your career. I simply wasn't expecting that you'd be spending the next two months in space."

"Neither was I, but I have to confess that I'm looking forward to it. It's the one area I have no real experience in and…" he trailed off, catching sight of his companion's expression.

The older man had turned partially away from him and was standing utterly still, hands in his coat pockets, staring at some spot on the ground.

"Sir? Treize? Are you feeling alright?" he demanded, worried that their meal might have proved too much for the man after yesterday.

"I'm fine, Zechs, merely thinking."

"May I ask about what?"

"Your mission, of course. It's very similar to one I undertook at your age, save that you're going to L2 and I went to L3." He seemed to hesitate, then continued – his voice soft enough that Zechs had to strain to hear the words. "I… don't have good memories of that mission."

_Leia,_ Zechs thought immediately, cursing himself for his happy babble – how could he have failed to see the similarities? "I'm sorry… I didn't think…"

Treize lifted his head, turning it to look at the man behind him, offering a weak smile to cover his true feelings. "It's hardly your fault, Zechs."

"Still…" The blond looked away. "If you would like to talk about her, Treize…?"

The smile faltered. "I wasn't aware you knew. You were what, almost thirteen?"

"Yes, but I knew. Your letters, before and… after…"

Treize nodded. "Ah. I was… very young. Younger than you are, for all that I was the same age. She… was unlike anyone I'd ever met, almost two years older than I was. She swore at the time that she loved me, but in retrospect I've come to wonder whether it wasn't a spoiled little rich girl's fascination with a man in a pretty uniform." He offered another shaky smile. "It hardly matters now. It was years ago."

"Yes, but… forgive me this, please… I don't believe you've ever truly recovered from her. You were different, after, colder. Certainly, you've never shown any sign of replacing her."

Treize had accepted all of this calmly, but now his eyebrow quirked. "You are both more and less observant than I give you credit for, Zechs. Such an experience would have changed any man as young as I was, likely not for the better, but to say I haven't recovered… What I can reclaim, I have. Some things, once they are gone, are gone forever." The second eyebrow joined the first, making his meaning clear. Zechs coloured – that, he hadn't known.

"Still…" he started, trying to hide his discomfort, "I've never seen you show any sign of… affection towards anyone else. Lady Une is far from the only one who would gladly replace her, if you would offer the chance." The thought of this man partnered with the harsh administrator sent a thrill of nausea through the blond but he forced himself to ignore it. "She would be a good match for you, though, would she not? A full countess, as well as a competent officer. And I believe she is from Hanover, originally, so she would have little trouble with life in Austria…"

The general was eyeing him narrowly, smiling – doubtless, Zechs did not know it, but as he had been earlier, the younger man was an open book to Treize. "Anyone would think that you wanted the Lady to succeed in gaining my _affections_, as you so delicately call them," he murmured, some twisted part of him wanting to see what reaction he would get. "And I cannot believe that is the case?"

The teasing light in the older man's eyes, the taunting note in his voice, an afternoon of frustration and confusion and, arguably, the alcohol in the pilot's bloodstream, all combined into one sudden, sweeping burst of fury.

"Oh, damn you!" Zechs gasped, the words torn from him as anger stole his ability to breathe. "You bastard! Why do you do that? What makes you say such things? Do you enjoy playing such games with people?" Agony chased after anger and he looked away, "You know… you must know after this morning… what I feel for you! You know full and well that I wouldn't see you with Une or with anyone else! How can you be so cruel?"

There was an edge of desperation to that polished voice as it pleaded for answers that stung the stunned general – no reaction he had envisioned came close to this. He opened his mouth to speak, one hand rising to offer comfort, but the younger man was already continuing.

"I want… I want to say that I won't stand for it… but we both know that I will. Just as we both know that _she_ would tolerate anything you could think of, if you would just smile at her once in a while." He drew a ragged breath. "If… if you are determined that you won't have me, I would rather…" Zechs's voice broke finally and he was forced to swallow hard past the tightness in his throat to regain it. "I would rather see you happy with her, than alone."

The pilot trailed to a stop and looked up. The auburn haired man was simply staring at him, something indefinable in his dark blue eyes, and Zechs knew that nothing had changed. Slowly, he collected himself, found his manners and turned on one booted heel.

"Thank you for dinner, sir," he murmured politely. "Good evening."

He got perhaps five paces before Treize, his melodic tenor voice ragged, called his name.

"Zechs!"

The blond merely shook his head, not willing to risk exposing himself further than he already had.

"Zechs! Captain, stop!"

The use of his rank gave him no choice; the pilot stopped where he was and forced himself to face his commanding officer.

The older man closed the distance Zechs had gained in a matter of seconds, his hair flame bright against the snow and wild around him. "When did you tell me what you feel for me?" he demanded. "When did I tell you that I didn't want you?"

Arctic blue eyes bored into those the colour of a clear night sky as anger re-ignited "Are you now going to pretend that you didn't order me to forget this morning?" Zechs spat. "It wasn't me who refused to speak of it then – I would have told you anything you could ask, but you wouldn't hear. How else am I supposed to interpret that other than as you saying that you aren't interested, despite how you've been playing at seduction all evening!?"

Treize grabbed his arm, fingers biting deep. "I've done no such thing!" he protested. "Zechs, I've never said I didn't want you and I never will. All I said, all I ever intended to say, was that we can't do this – we can't be together, not like that."

"Why not?"

"Oh, Zechs…" Treize sighed sadly. "Surely the reasons are obvious?"

"Not to me. I can't see a single one."

"But I can! There are so many… too many… arguments for why we shouldn't even be having this conversation and only one possible justification for letting it go any further."

Pale eyes widened. "What would that be?" Zechs demanded desperately, hopefully.

Treize shook his head. "My friend, it would be better for you if it were never spoken of."

"Tell me!"

"Don't you know?"

They looked at each other steadily for a space of time that, later, neither would be able to accurately name, Treize silently asking that the younger man understand without forcing either of them to make real what could not happen by saying it aloud and the pilot pleading in his own turn for a confirmation he had to hear.

Finally, Treize closed his eyes. "Our only defence could be that I want you…" he murmured. "That I love you… and that, I assume, you feel the same…"

Zechs felt those words burn through him, searing into his soul. He had suspected, he had hoped, but had never thought to actually hear them, though he had dreamed of this moment and variations on it for years, in an infinite array of settings.

He caught a shaken breath – acutely aware that he had dreamed equally – more than equally – of what would happen next. Now, with their feelings clear between them and clearly mutual, there could be no barrier to any level of intimacy they chose to explore.

Passion meshed with anticipation and swirled his senses, opening his mind to the deepest of his fantasies, those he had only dared to look at in his sleep. Reality forced him to add a thread of fear to the mix; wanted or not – and how he wanted – everything from here, every touch they shared, would be new to him and he was forced to trust that his friend wouldn't overwhelm and hurt him.

The older man opened his eyes as quickly as he had closed them, with the echoes of his own voice still hovering in the still air around them. He saw the flash of triumph and the slow build of physical need in the other; saw, too, the sliver of trepidation and wondered at its cause, all the while knowing that he would have to smash the new-born surety on the younger man's face and wishing with everything he had that he didn't have to.

Zechs began to reach for him and he knew he had run out of time.

Hating himself, he lifted a hand and stopped the motion.

Confusion replaced anticipation.

"I said that it would be our only possible defence – I did not say that it was a defence I was willing to use. Everything I said this morning is still true – we cannot do this."

The pilot jerked back, staggered. "Why?"

"There are so many reasons… Do I begin by pointing out that I am your commanding officer? Even were it permissible, it would be impossible to treat you as I should. Already, I cringe at the idea of you spending two months in space – how much worse would that feeling become? How would we contend with keeping it a secret, as we would have to, knowing that sooner or later we would be caught? Could you handle commanding men who would use our relationship to taunt you? Every decision would be suspect; our reputations would be in tatters. Should I make clear how our friends and colleagues would react? We are both male – most of our friends would be disgusted, my family would be incensed. Should you ever choose to reveal your identity, what would be the effect on your claim to the Sancian throne? Could you even take your crown, knowing you could never produce an heir?"

Treize paused, partly for air, partly to allow his words to sink in, and the younger man leapt into the space.

"Ask me if I care about any of that?" Zechs challenged. "Yes, you are my commander but we have never been able to treat each other as we should – if you love me as you say you do, then that damage is already done and it will not matter if we are together. How will you feel if we do nothing and I die in space? Will you lose another chance at love – this time through your own fault?"

He watched that thought strike home before moving on.

"Do I care about the opinions of my soldiers? They will obey me, or I will have them punished. If the rumours are as widespread as you believe them to be, then that damage is already done as well. Our friends will understand, or they are not true friends. Your family, what is left of them, needs your money and your influence too much to risk alienating you. As to my crown… It is not my place, and never was. It will not matter whether I have heirs or not. Do you really believe that a former military pilot can hope to rule the Sanc kingdom?"

Treize drew a calming breath, reading the doubt beginning to set in under the bravado his friend was displaying. For all Zechs's aggressiveness in pursuing this matter, he was rather young and Treize's continual rebuffs were taking their toll on his confidence. "Easy to say," the general pointed out. "It is still not that simple – have you truly thought about what a relationship between the two of us would mean? I know myself and I saw the look in your eyes a moment ago – you would have me bed you, yes?"

Zechs looked puzzled. "Yes – I rather thought that was half the point…"

"Quite. No doubt you were hoping for sooner rather than later, perhaps even tonight. But have you considered what it will feel like in two days when you have to leave and there would be no chance of a repeat for two months? Have you thought about the medical examinations every pilot must undergo. We would have to be careful never to touch each other near to those."

The younger man shook his head, pulling some of his hair free from the neat bow. "As to the first, I stand by my earlier point. It will not be easy – that I do not pretend – but I would rather know and know I can have you when I return, than forever deny ourselves. And my medicals are always scheduled weeks in advance. We would know exactly when we had to be careful and… there are other ways, are there not?"

Despite the tension, Treize had to smile. "There are…" he admitted. "Not the least of which is that I don't have to suffer such invasive procedures nearly so often," he continued, without realising quite what he was saying.

Zechs's eyes widened, then scrunched closed as he groaned quietly. "Please… don't say things like that if you don't intend to follow through on them! It simply isn't fair!"

Treize chuckled gently. "Alright, I shan't. Another point… I would be breaking the law."

"What?"

"Were I to bed you, I would be breaking the law. Officer or not, you _are_ still only seventeen. In any relationship, be your partner male or female, you are under the age of consent."

The pilot spluttered, "What?! That's the most ridiculous thing I have ever had the misfortune to… How can it be legal for me to blow other people into meeting their maker in a mobile suit and not be legal for me to…?"

The general shook his head, fighting laughter at the outraged protest. "I have no idea, but it is the law. If I lay a hand on you before your birthday, I will technically be guilty of rape. And that is not a charge I wish to face in a courtroom."

"That can't be the case. I know Noin had men before she was eighteen and no-one said a word!"

"How old were the men she was with? The problem only arises because I am five years older than you. Should one be so inclined – and it is more than likely that we would run across people who are – it would be all too easy to make a case for a shocking abuse of power on my part."

Zechs scowled for a moment, and then his face lightened into the most dazzling smile Treize had ever seen from him.

"I fail to see the humour," he said acerbically.

"Really?" the pilot asked. "Oh, well."

"Zechs."

"What?"

"Care to tell me what you are finding in this situation to smile about? I've barely finished telling you all the reasons why we cannot have the relationship you so want!"

"No, you haven't. You've barely finished being talked out of all those reasons."

"Excuse me?!"

The smile bubbled over into true laughter, "If you hadn't changed your mind, you wouldn't be telling me in such detail why we can't sleep together until my birthday in January," Zechs replied. "You'd changed your mind when you brought up the subject of my medicals, or you wouldn't have pointed out that you don't have to have them!"

For the first time since they'd met a decade earlier, Zechs saw Treize look totally stymied. "Am I right?" he demanded, closing the gap between them.

"I…"

"Come on, Treize… Even waiting till January isn't going to be a problem, if you must insist on it!"

"Oh?" Treize asked, feeling more than a little off-balance by this sudden shift of the ground under his feet.

"Thank Major Bristein for breaking his leg!" the younger man replied. "I'm not even going to be on the planet for most of that time. We can't possibly do anything we shouldn't!"

"Zechs, it's not…" Treize trailed off, feeling his throat tighten, choking his words as he looked at the man in front of him for a moment or two. "Mein Gott, wieviele Jahre werde ich noch haben...?" he whispered.

The pilot caught the muffled murmur of something incomprehensible and German-sounding just before the general closed the last gap between the two of them and pulled the younger man into his arms.

Zechs melted into the other's wool coated embrace willingly and let his head rest on one strong shoulder. "Does this mean…?" he started and was cut off when a strong hand found its way into his hair and pulled his head up.

"Do shut up!" Treize breathed and kissed him.

The immediate wash of sensation staggered the blond. The lips pressing against his own were soft, satin warmth; the rose scented curls brushing against his forehead and cheek were a chilled silk. Those strong fingers had slipped from his hair to rest on his throat, the thumb cradling his jaw, stroking, whilst the other hand pressed into his waist, providing much needed stability.

Zechs felt something flicker across his lower lip and he opened his mouth, sinking deeper into feeling and into their kiss. The older man tasted of the beer he had been drinking, of the peppers and spices in the sausage he had eaten and of something nebulous, unique, that the pilot realised to his delight was the general himself. Treize's tongue pressed, probed for a fleeting second and then was gone, inviting the other to chase it.

Treize kissed the way he fenced, Zechs learned: graceful, fluid and expert. And so controlled. Not for him a clumsy, careless mashing of tongue and teeth that left both partners bruised and bitten; instead, the man worked with precision, drawing every ounce of pleasure from his partner that he could. The pilot gave everything he could in response, but he was aware that his own efforts were – had to be – unpolished in comparison.

Zechs felt the liquid heat pooling in his stomach spill over the barriers of his self-restraint and he moaned low in his throat, crushing the slender older man to him and pouring that heat into him. He suddenly felt his balance desert him and he had to pull away, though it was the last thing he wanted to do, to draw enough air into his lungs to stay conscious.

Treize found the younger man's mouth warm; crisp tasting from the alcohol and the cold night air, a touch hesitant under his own. As with so many things in his life, the Special's commander had found very quickly that he had a true talent for this and he now allowed that talent to draw the other man into their kiss, tempting him deeper with every moment.

Zechs's kiss lacked practice – and Treize spared a second to think about that because it wasn't something he had expected – but what he lacked in technique he compensated for ably with enthusiasm.

The general teased until he hammered through to the wellspring of passion he knew his new lover possessed and then he rescinded control, becoming pliant as the young man he was holding turned to rippling, aqueous flame in his arms. Honed strength crushed his body into the other man's, and those pale, firm lips he'd wanted for so long demanded and then tore his answering heat from him.

Zechs pulled his mouth away, trembling and heaving for breath, clearly off-balance. Treize held him, slowly handing him back the composure he had stolen, even as he registered that the pilot wasn't the only one whose breath was coming in pants and revelling in the fact.

In this, as all else, they were perfect together; Zechs's pure fire tempered under Treize's diamond-sharp dominance until the combination was sheer brilliance. "Oh Gott, Milliardo, ich will dich so sehr!" he sighed into the younger man's hair and smiled when Zechs shivered.

"I don't know what you just said but…" the blond gasped, too swamped to even care about the use of his real name, "please don't ever speak to me in German in public!".

Treize chuckled, delighted by the reaction. "I said, 'God, Miliardo, I want you!'" he translated.

"…Oh…"

"And I do, and I most certainly don't want to wait until January to have you."

"Neither do I…" Zechs admitted, a touch embarrassed.

Treize laughed again "Perhaps it is a good thing that you won't be on the planet after all," he admitted. "Though I doubt not that I shall be having some very vivid dreams."

Zechs giggled nervously, and the sound was so young and so out of character that the general slid a hand beneath the pilot's chin and tilted his head up so he could look at him. "You look thoroughly debauched, my friend. No-one would believe I have only kissed you, and that only once."

The younger man gazed at him with eyes so dilated that their customary frosty blue was all but hidden. "They won't have to believe, because they won't know…" he muttered, trying to pull himself together.

"You think so?" Treize asked. "I have to take you home sometime soon – it is far too cold for us to stay out much longer – and the second anyone gets a good look at you they will know something of what has happened."

"Yes, but they won't know it was _you_ and that's the important bit."

Treize smiled. "True enough." He took a step back from the younger man, releasing his hold and sliding his arm around Zechs's waist instead. "Come on. If you have work to do tomorrow you should seek out your bed sometime soon."

"Yes…"

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Lady Une, looking out of her window just before she climbed into her bed, was surprised to see the figures of her commanding officer and his closest friend returning through the gates on foot.

She had known that they were going out – it wasn't an unusual occurrence and the general had told her in their meeting that evening that he would be off base for the duration – and she had known, when the car she had assigned to them for the night returned a scant half hour after its departure, that they were planning to walk back, but she hadn't expected them to be so late, or to look so… comfortable… with one another when they did.

Suspicion flashed through her mind, but she dismissed it instantly and fell into an easy sleep.

_Mein Gott, wieviele Jahre werde ich noch haben...?_ My God, how many years have I…?


	6. Chapter 6

A/N - as mentioned at the start of the story, this chapter has seen some edits to make it comply with the ratings limit on The changes are pretty small, but anyone wanting to read the full thing can find it over at my homepage listed in my author profile.

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Treize woke Zechs again the following morning, bringing him from heated dreams with gentle touches, until he was lying on his back under his sheets, looking up into clear sapphire eyes. "Are you going to make a habit of this?" the pilot asked, shivering a little as the older man ran silk-gloved fingers down his chest.

"Would you like me to?" was the soft rejoinder.

Zechs coloured a little. "What I'd like… is for you to be in this bed with me," he confessed quietly.

Treize shook his head. "Not until your birthday. Until then, this will have to suffice."

The pilot tried to sit up, and was pushed back by the hand on his stomach. "All this is going to do is leave me horribly frustrated!" he protested.

"That was my intention," the general replied. "I thought it might make our day more interesting – we have a meeting with Lady Une and General Septum in half an hour, or had you forgotten?"

"I hadn't. That's why this is so unfair… " Zechs's blush deepened and his breath caught in his throat. "You're going to get me all worked up and I don't even have time to do anything about it myself!"

The steady jewel-hued gaze sparked. "Now, there's an image," Treize breathed. As he spoke, the general slipped the hand on Zechs's stomach beneath the covers and let it rest on one bare hip, stroking slowly.

"Oh, God! You really aren't nice to me!"

"Define nice?" Treize asked, smiling wickedly.

"Nice would be leaving me alone so I can pull myself together before I have to face the Lady and the General!"

"Ah. No."

"That's what I thought! You'll have to let me up soon, or we'll be late!"

"Then you'd best hope I remember how do this," Treize purred.

"Do what…?" Zechs started to ask and had his words cut off by the other man's mouth on his own in a kiss that was nothing like the one from the night before. Then, Treize had been concentrating on expressing emotion. Now, he was working on arousing his partner beyond the point of any control. This kiss was hard, dominating and it left Zechs swamped and fighting to keep his head above its tidal wave.

His body responded in predictable fashion and the pilot's entire world focused down onto that hand, still stroking his hip just inches away from that new aching need.

Treize lifted his head. "Do you trust me?" he asked softly.

"Of course I trust you!"

"Then let me do this. I want to."

"Do what?" the blond began to repeat, and then caught his voice in a strangled gasp as the fingers he was so intent upon lifted from his hip and began to caress far more intimate areas instead.

Treize silenced Zechs's shocked cry by kissing him again and used his free hand to pin the younger man to the bed, holding him still despite the reflex response to get away. It took but moments for the pilot to cease fighting and to begin instead to move against the pressure of his hand.

Zechs had never felt anything to compare with the firestorm sweeping his body. In what was left of his mind, he wondered how something he did to himself on a regular basis could feel so different when it was someone else's hand. Or did that only apply when it was this man's hand? Treize hadn't removed his gloves, and the silk fabric was cool and rough on his skin.

The blond was acutely aware that he was being watched and should have been embarrassed – some part of his mind was, he was sure – but the only thing that seemed to matter was the pressure building in his stomach until it reached the point of near pain.

He flung his hands out, desperate for something to grab onto.

Treize watched, not unaware of the reaction of his own body to the sight before him, as the younger man bucked into his touch, unconsciously gasping his name. It was nice to know that he hadn't lost these particular skills – it had been quite some time since he'd needed them, and even then it had been very much more casual than anything he could do with Zechs ever would be.

The pilot suddenly dug his hands into his rumpled bedding, fingers scrabbling for purchase and Treize smiled. The hand not occupied on Zechs's body pulled his lover up to a sitting position, and then in against Treize's own form, inviting the younger man to hold onto him for the anchorage he seemed to need. Powerful fingers closed on Treize's shoulders, and even though the padding of his uniform Zechs's grip was punishing. The general was sure he'd be left with bruises, but he couldn't make himself care as he leaned in to kiss the pilot again, nipping at his mouth for a moment before trailing fleeting pecks across his face and down his neck.

The blond threw his head back, lungs straining for air, whimpering and moaning with every breath and then crying out sharply as the general set his teeth gently into his bared throat, scraping the sweat-glazed skin.

The shiver that passed through the younger man at the pressure of Treize's teeth on his pulse point very nearly had the older throwing caution out of the window. It was suddenly all he could do not to push the pilot backwards into his sheets to take him as roughly as the general was stroking him. Treize had never dared for hope for it, but was it possible that Zechs could match him in this, as well?

The older man bit Zechs's throat again, hard, deliberately causing sharp pain and almost drawing blood – knowing it was a make or break move. Either Zechs would love it and the pain would feed into his mounting pleasure, adding a darker note, or it would simply hurt him and, most likely, kill any pleasure he was feeling altogether.

Treize felt the shock roil through Zechs and held his breath.

A second later, he had his answer as the pilot cried out, his body tensing. He collapsed, trusting his lover to catch him, panting desperately and Treize pulled him in close, running agile fingers through the long, damp hair, until Zechs gave a little shiver and moved away.

Zechs was shaking; he knew it and he didn't care. The bite to his throat had swept through him like nothing he'd ever felt before, no matter how fevered his fantasies. He bit his lip and wondered if the man holding him so carefully even suspected that no one had ever touched him like this before.

"Would that constitute nice?" the elder man whispered after a time.

The pilot gave a shaky laugh. "Oh, yes. Not sure I'll be any use to you in that meeting, though. Not sure I can stand…"

"You have time."

"Not enough, believe me. I've never…" He stopped and swallowed. Now was not the time to get into that conversation.

Treize gave him another five minutes and then patted the top of his leg. "Come on, Major. Out of bed, or we will be late."

"Major?"

Treize smiled. "As of this morning, yes. Up!"

Stunned in more than one way, the blond rolled from his bed and threw himself in the direction of his shower. "I'm never going to get my hair dry in time," he grumbled.

"Shut up and move!"

"Yes, sir."

Despite his words, Zechs was in full uniform and looking as though nothing had happened in well under the time he had available.

Smirking at him, Treize went for the door.

Zechs stopped with him a touch and a charming blush, half hidden behind his mask. "Sir, your gloves…"

The general glanced down at his hands, gave a satisfied smile and stripped the ruined fabric off. Canting a conspiratorial look at the younger man, he folded the clean glove over the top of the stained one and tucked them both neatly into his belt. "There. Not quite dress, but I doubt anyone will notice."

Zechs inclined his head, and reminded himself not to look at those gloves during the meeting.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Lady Une looked up from the folders she was distributing around the oval-shaped table as the two officers strolled into the room with a scant minute to spare. "Good morning, Your Excellency," she greeted, inclining her head in respect. "Major."

The pilot merely returned her nod, but Treize smiled at her. "Good morning, my Lady. I trust you're well?"

"Yes, sir, and you?"

"Oh, perfectly, perfectly. What do we have on the agenda, today?"

Zechs waited until Trieze had seated himself at the table and then settled himself in the chair on his left, picking up the folder and flicking through it idly.

"The General's aide informed me that he wants to speak about the Specials capability in case of outright war. Apparently the figures we supplied to his office aren't good enough, sir."

Treize raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why does he think that?"

"Officially, sir, I have no idea. Un-officially, there are rumours that he believes we are hiding something… that we have some secret reserve force somewhere that we aren't declaring on our lists."

"Where did he get that notion?"

"Something about our ratio of men and supplies to active troops as compared to the regular Alliance military. I have to say… the switch in command of the L2 mission has not shown us in a good light."

Treize felt Zechs stiffen at his side and waved a hand in his direction. "That wasn't aimed at you, Major. With all due respect to the General, even I can't predict when a man will break his leg doing something he's done a hundred times before. The mission will go ahead as planned. What's the problem?"

"The problem seems to be that we didn't have anyone in place to take command in case something like that did happen. We have replaced Major Bristein, but to do it we've had to promote an officer with no direct experience of this type of command and have given him less than two days to get up to speed."

"It won't prove a problem."

"I know that, sir. The General does not."

"Of course… You do realise that this is merely another one of Noventa's Intel gathering runs, don't you?"

The Lady almost smiled. "That thought had occurred. There's nothing for him to find."

"Good."

Zechs was puzzled. "Excuse me?"

"Marshall Noventa, our beloved Commander in Chief, doesn't quite trust me, Zechs. In fact, he doesn't trust anything about the Specials… which only goes to prove that he's smarter than he looks. He's aware that there's something not quite right about our ranks, something which has accelerated since I took command, but he can't prove that it's anything more than ordinary housekeeping, and everything I've done has been has been supported by people with almost as much power as Noventa has himself. He can't touch me directly, but that hasn't stopped him manipulating various people into coming up with their own concerns about the Specials. Septum's merely the last in a long line. Yes, he genuinely is worried about support should this aggravation in the colonies ever amount to anything, but this belief about secret troops is a plant. How would the head of the Alliance's space command know anything about normality for ground troops?"

"I… see. How does that have anything to do with Bristein?"

Treize raised an eyebrow, appreciating the logic of the question. "Major Bristein was scheduled for this mission before I took command… he's of the old guard, so to speak. One of the major tasks that has occupied me over the past few months is the removal of officers such as the Major and their replacement with those we know we can trust to follow more… complex goals. Though it was purely accidental this time, the Major's accident has caused another switch of officer from old to new. In this case, a man known to be my personal friend. Septum can probably be convinced that it was an accident, but Noventa never will be."

Zechs nodded. "I can stand down from this mission if it's going to cause problems?"

"Certainly not. Bristein's fall has only accelerated my plans, not changed them. This would have been the last mission he commanded in any case. I need you, and for that I need you to climb the ranks. I had you scheduled for a month-long tour to L4 in March, but I can use that now to promote someone else."

Lady Une looked between her commanding officer and his favourite pilot and smiled at the shock in the pilot's body language. Really, how could the boy have spent so much time as the Colonel's friend and not understand how the man worked?

She watched as the auburn haired man folded his artist's hands on top of his folder and frowned. Where were his gloves? He'd been wearing them this morning at breakfast. She'd never known him not wear them outside of his own rooms…

Careful to appear as though she were checking through her own folder for something, she ran her eyes over the man and spotted them tucked into his belt… how odd! He must have stained them with something at some point and not had the time to replace them.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of the rodent-faced little General and for the next hour or so she turned her mind to supporting whatever her Colonel said.

When Septum had left, she relaxed and then got her feet to begin rearranging the room. As she bent over the pilot to collect his folder, his silvery hair slid from his collar and the Lady could see the edge of a vicious looking bite mark. So, that was what they had been doing last night! No wonder they hadn't invited her along!

Though the Lady intended one day to claim her superior officer for her own, she operated under no illusions that he was celibate now. No-one handling the levels of stress that they handled day to day could hope to be. What he did with the odd tart he picked up whilst out with his friend mattered not a jot to her.

And if both men were seeking company of that kind then they were still oblivious to the spark between the two of them and her task would be all the easier in the end.

She smiled at them both as they stood up to leave the room.

As he crossed the doorway, Treize put his hand to the pilot's back, a fleeting touch that most would have missed. The blond officer turned his head, listening to something the older man was saying, and then he shivered.

The Lady froze.

Sudden blinding anger swept through her, like nothing she had ever felt before. She was wrong! She had to be wrong! Mr Treize wouldn't do such a thing!!

A moment later, she shook her head, getting herself under control again – she was jumping to conclusions, that was all. Treize was just being courteous, and Zechs's shiver was merely co-incidence.

She straightened her spine and resolved all over again to be the perfect officer for her commander.


	7. Chapter 7

Final chapter in this first story! Poison Two should be posted shortly.

To those of you who reviewed, thank you so much!

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"When do you leave?" Treize asked as they stepped out of the meeting room.

Zechs shivered in reaction as Treize touched him lightly in the small of his back – the first contact between them since he'd gotten out of bed. "Officially, the mission is cleared to leave from New Edwards base tomorrow at 12:00, but I'm scheduled to fly out of here at 18:30 tonight," he murmured in reply.

The general nodded. "What do you need to do before then?"

"Pack, mostly, and tie up what loose ends I can. It won't take me more than a couple of hours. I'd fly out tomorrow morning, but I need to meet my officers and ensure everything is ready."

"I understand that – you don't need to explain." Treize shot the younger man a wry grin. "Are you nervous yet?"

The blond turned his head. "Nervous, sir? Why should I be nervous?"

Treize raised his signature eyebrow. "This is your first full space assignment and your first full mission in command. You'll be on your own. It would be normal to be apprehensive."

"Actually… having complete command is one of the things I'm looking forward to most. I've never taken orders well."

Treize allowed the smirk those words provoked to come to the fore, recalling that his friend's file contained as many letters from outraged commanders protesting his complete ignorance of their orders as it did glowing missives of praise.

In the past few months, Treize had found the letters of complaint a useful guide as to which of the Specials officers needed to find other lines of work.

"I can't recall having trouble commanding you," he commented.

The dry tone to his superior's voice tipped Zechs off to the fact that his words were supposed to imply more than they said, but he chose to ignore the hidden meaning and answered seriously. "That might be because you're competent, sir. Your orders make sense."

"Ah."

Though he had intended an oblique reference to other activities, Treize could freely admit that both what he had said and what Zechs had replied were the literal truth. The younger man was the perfect subordinate, as far as the general was concerned, precisely who and what he would want at his side in battle – capable of reflexively obeying orders to the letter, but also not requiring that everything be absolutely spelt out for him. And not afraid of tweaking those orders into a more suitable form if he thought it was necessary for victory.

Treize could see, though – quite clearly – why a less confident commander, or one with a more rigid style, who perhaps didn't know and trust the younger man as he did would have trouble with him, and he was glad that this mission would make it likely that the younger man would never have to take orders from anyone but himself again.

It remained to be seen whether Zechs could hold a command of his own for any length of time.

"I'm honoured that you think so," Treize replied eventually.

Zechs looked at him sharply. "I somehow doubt that you need my opinion on the subject to be sure of that, sir. You've been commanding missions since I was a cadet."

"Yes, but it's nice to hear it." Treize paused, thinking. "May I offer you a word of advice?"

"Of course, sir."

"Before you go, find yourself two pens that work and are comfortable to hold. One to use and the other as a spare when the first inevitably breaks or gets lost."

"Sir?"

"I'm quite serious, Zechs. You're about to come face to face with more paperwork than you can imagine; you'll spend hours filling out forms and reports and there is nothing more unpleasant than trying to fly a mobile suit with pressure blisters on your hands from writing with an uncomfortable pen, and nothing more irritating than getting up early to tackle said forms only to spend an hour hunting down a pen that works."

"I… yes, sir."

Treize smiled. "Don't look so horrified – it isn't that bad."

"If you say so, sir."

The general laughed, the motion making his once-again slicked back auburn hair flash red in the sunlight streaming in from the wide windows. "Do you have time for lunch?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Come along then."

They parted after a leisurely lunch, Treize to attend another meeting, Zechs to return to his rooms and prepare, with a promise to meet again before the blond had to leave, and it was this that had the younger man knocking on the door to the elder's office just as the sun set.

"Come in!"

The pilot pushed the ornate wooden door open and crossed into the room, surprised to find the occupier not behind his desk, with its ever present piles of work, but sitting on the sofa he swore was only for the comfort of his guests, reading from a file in his lap. "Hello, Zechs, I'll be with you in a minute."

Unwilling to disturb his senior, the blond stood, waiting quietly until the older man threw the file down with a snort of disgust and then looked up at him and smiled. "Ready to go?"

"Yes, sir," Zechs replied, gesturing to the hold-all he had slung over his shoulder.

"Good. Put that thing down for now, will you? And sit down?"

"Of course, sir."

"Zechs – if you call me 'sir' again, I'm going to start calling you Milly!"

"Yes… Treize."

"Better. Would you like a drink?" The older man got to his feet as he spoke and gestured at his drinks cabinet.

"I don't think it would be a good idea."

"Fair enough. Coffee?"

Zechs shook his head. "I'm fine."

Treize nodded, pouring amber liquid into a cut crystal glass and then sipping at it before settling himself back on the settee. "So, what do you want to do for your birthday?"

Zechs looked surprised. "Sorry?"

"You haven't told me what you want to do yet. Given when this mission is supposed to end, I'll have to start organising before you're back on the planet."

"I thought… you'd already decided what I was doing?"

"Ah!" Treize shook his head. "No, I've decided what state you'll be in by the end of the night, not what we actually do. It's your birthday."

"I have… no idea. I don't pay much attention to my birthdays."

"No, neither do I, generally. But look at that performance my family insisted on a couple of years ago."

Treize's 21st birthday would, if it had been left to him, doubtless have passed by totally unnoticed by everyone save Zechs and, possibly, Lady Une, but his mother and his Uncle, Duke Dermail, had plotted behind his back and had dragged the unwilling Lieutenant-Colonel back Salzburg for a party of truly staggering proportions. Zechs hadn't been aware that his friend had so many relatives, nor knew so many officers and officials.

"Yes… that, you can most definitely avoid," he murmured.

Treize laughed. "I was hoping to have you enjoy the event, not spend half of it trying to hide." He waved a hand. "Write to me when you know, but don't take too long or I'll simply assume that you don't care and organise something myself."

The younger man cringed, and his commanding officer snorted into his drink. When he had calmed himself, he glanced at the clock on his desk and sighed. "Come here, will you? I have little enough time to do this in as it is."

Gently, he gathered the blond into his arms and kissed him, a gently fierce approach this time that left the younger man, when was released, feeling as though he had been branded.

The two officers sat, holding one another for a space of time, and then Treize sighed, kissed a length of Zechs' hair and stood up. "Come on, I'll walk down with you."

"You don't need to do that, I…"

Treize stopped his protest with a look over his shoulder as he swung his cape back into place on it. "I do. I have to give you your final orders at the very least."

It was a long walk from the general's office to the hanger where Zechs's plane was waiting for him and the Major wasn't entirely surprised that they made it in almost complete silence. Out in public as they were, they could not have said anything meaningful to each other and neither of them wished to talk about anything else.

Treize, for his part, was attempting something he had never accomplished in his life – the art of not thinking. Thinking required him to realise that once the man at his side stepped into the plane, it was a possibility that they would never see one another again. It wasn't likely, he knew that too, the man was a brilliant pilot and the mission wasn't overly dangerous, but there was still a chance, more of one than he would have liked.

His thoughts didn't show on his face and he entered the hanger looking his usual collected self. He stood back a little, allowing the blond to greet his pilot for the evening and stow his stuff away and only stepped up when the younger man came back to the door of the plane and down the steps.

Zechs snapped a salute and then waited, knowing his commanding officer was going to have something to say.

"I'll see you on Christmas Eve, yes?" the general began.

Zechs nodded. "Of course. Would I break tradition? I'll assume you'll be in Salzburg?"

"If it's possible. I'll let you know."

"Yes, sir."

The pilot, ostensibly checking his instruments, glanced up, looked between the two men standing on the steps and gave a sad smile – that they were friends was well known, but this… The general had a reputation for being heartless, but there was nothing about this quiet demand for the younger man to come home safe that was heartless. Quietly, he closed the door to the cockpit, granting them what privacy he could.

Zechs heard the door close and thought his gratitude to the young man piloting him. Gently, he reached out one hand and touched his commanding officer's shoulder. "I'll be fine, Treize."

"I know that you will. Forgive me for being… paranoid."

"It's… sweet, in its way."

They gazed at one another, smiling sadly, and then Treize stepped backward. "Ach, Gott!" White silk flashed in the dim lighting for a second as it disappeared beneath his cloak, and then reappeared to press something into the other's hands.

"What's…?"

"Your final orders for the mission… sealed until you depart New Edwards."

"Sir."

"And a letter… The first of many, I hope."

"Oh… yes. I promise."

The heavy parchment was pressed more firmly into Zechs's grasp, their fingers intertwining briefly, and then the general tore himself away and stepped off the stairs. "Go, or you'll miss your take-off time."

"Yes, sir. Two months, Treize. I promise."

"Go, Milliardo." Treize forced a smile. "And think about your birthday!"

Zechs nodded and stepped into the body of the plane, almost lost in shadow. Their eyes met for a moment more and then the steps swung up and sealed.

Treize walked backwards, giving the pilot of the plane room to fire his engines without risk of incinerating his commander, and stared at the plane until it was lost to view. Then he clasped his hands together for a brief second and closed his eyes. "Herr im Himmel, bitte wache über ihn."

Warmth at his side drew his attention and he turned to see Lady Une standing beside him. "Lady? Did something come up?"

Sympathy sparkled in gentle brown eyes. "No, sir. I thought… you might appreciate company…"

Treize forced another smile, but found that it wasn't as hard as it had been moments earlier. "Thank you, Lady, yes." He looked down at her pretty face, not bothering to work out how she knew. "Would you care for a glass of wine, Lady?"

"If you wish me to join you, sir?"

"It would be my pleasure." He offered her his arm and they left the hanger, walking slowly and talking of nothing important.

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As his plane pulled away from the ground and sought its true home in the darkened sky, Zechs relaxed in the co-pilot's seat and turned to the young man beside him. "Thank-you for that, Lieutenant…?"

"Otto, sir. It was no trouble."

"Still… it was appreciated. As was the smooth take-off."

"My pleasure, sir. We'll be about five hours reaching New Edwards, if you'd care to sleep, sir?"

"No, thank you. I believe I'll work on my correspondence."

_The End_

_Herr im Himmel, bitte wache über ihn_ Him in Heaven, please watch over him.


End file.
